


Uncertain Dreams

by presidentwarden



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Comfort, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mage Rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8570050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/presidentwarden/pseuds/presidentwarden
Summary: Wordlessly Orsino steps forward and sags against Garrett’s broad chest, offering a sigh of relief and exhaustion. It’s more difficult now than ever. It gets harder to see the glints of hope scattered amid all this misery. Garrett is one of them, bright like a wisp in the Fade.
He knows he won’t need to bear this all alone. He has allies everywhere, for the mages, for the cause, for liberty and rights.
None of those allies are for him. If they could, they would prefer to follow a First Enchanter who was not an elf. He knows this, and feels an uncaring sort of disdain for the fact. He is what he is; nothing can be done about that.
Garrett loves what he is.
It’s nice and soothing and a sorely needed comfort. Love can’t be undervalued.





	

“Hawke.”

The elf’s breath is hot on his bare shoulder, a low tone matched by vivid green eyes that captivates Garrett before he can think.

He turns to face the elf, who withdraws the arms he’s slung around Hawke’s waist and retreats to lean against the polished wardrobe. Orsino simply waits and watches Garrett from that short distance, silky crimson shirt falling loosely around lean ribs and hugging broad hips. Garrett’s amber eyes rake his form and then he glances away, breath caught in his throat. He doesn’t want to leer like a templar might.

“Feel free to look at me.” Orsino addresses it with a quick thought, beckoning with long slim fingers for Garrett to come close again. Reluctantly, he does, padding across the carpet barefooted, and very gently takes hold of one small hand, and Orsino offers a small sad smile.

“You’re not the same as the templars. Don’t ever fear that you will be.”

“I couldn’t be.” But Garrett knows exactly what is meant. He places his other hand around Orsino’s, too, warming his cold fingertips, and he sees the elf shudder with a sudden chill. One rough calloused thumb rubs against Orsino’s soft palm, feeling thin scars beneath.

Garrett tilts his head, brow furrowed. He has so many things to say. How could they dare punish you for what you do, Orsino. How could any man with a conscience stand up and say that you deserve what has been done to you, and everyone else in the Gallows too. How can you even bear to endure this at all. But instead he just offers a crooked smile. Better to distract than dwell on it. “I don’t think they’re accepting applications from mages.”

“I’d love to see the Knight-Commander’s face if you tried.” Orsino readily settles back into the comfortable, easy rhythm of banter. Sometimes they say everything to each other without saying much at all outright. Garrett draws Orsino’s hand up to press it close to his chest and Orsino follows, led forward, another sharp remark on the tip of his tongue. Instead he is silenced by a kiss with too much bearded scruff that does not last quite long enough.

Garrett is quiet for a second after, blinking in confusion as the gears of his brain kick back into motion. It always takes a minute to think of what to say. Nobody breaks his concentration quite like Orsino can. That’s got to be some sort of forbidden magic, too. The good kind.

Abruptly he remembers what he’d meant to do, and reaches down to his pocket -- and finds no pocket at all.

Orsino lifts an eyebrow. “I’m wearing your shirt.”

“Right.” Garrett reaches into the shirt’s pocket anyway, takes a minute to caress Orsino’s waist through the thin fabric, and then plucks out a small parcel. It’s something light that’s been bound with thread in a little packet of cloth. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice this.”

“Believe it or not, I find you more interesting than the shirt’s contents.” Orsino leans back again, slouching against the carved panels. He is only a little shorter than Garrett, but when confronted with the other mage’s muscular and striking physique, the difference seems immense. Garrett is not particularly impressive at the moment, fumbling with the knotted thread, but Orsino casts an appreciative eye in his direction regardless. He’s trying.

By the time Garrett starts gnawing at the thread with his teeth, Orsino intervenes, plucking the parcel free from sturdy fingers and undoing it with simple ease. A ring falls out into his palm, something with an artful engraved band, simmering with enchantment.

One gray eyebrow arches higher, a stare aimed directly at Garrett. “I see you’re interested in commitment.”

“Yes but-- it’s not like that. Everyone wears rings. It’s for the protection.” He is caught off guard, coughing to hide his sudden embarrassment. “This is for you.”

“Considering the situation, I’d hope so.”

“Stop that. You’re making it worse.”

“That was the goal.” A brief pause. “Go on, I’m listening.”

“It tracks you. Not where you are, but-- what’s happening, whether you’re safe. If you’re not, I’ll know.” Garrett bashfully lifts his own hand, wearing a similar ring. Larger and less ornate but clearly a matched set. “It’s not that I don’t think you can take care of yourself. It’s just that killing templars is an amazing stress-relief hobby.”

Orsino processes this for a long moment, bemused.

“I see.” A moment of careful thought.

“Thank you.”

He wants to say he doesn’t need it, despite Garrett’s promises, despite the fact that he does, because he is not quite strong enough to truly tolerate the burdens of First Enchanter and all the constant abuse and hate that simmers in the air like an unseen poison. Yet if he tells himself often enough that he can bear it, he can. He will. And he does. It’s hardly the healthiest cycle, but he endures.

He starts to slide the ring on. Garrett reaches for his hand again and does it for him, then seals the deal with a hand squeeze.

Wordlessly Orsino steps forward and sags against Garrett’s broad chest, offering a sigh of relief and exhaustion. It’s more difficult now than ever. It gets harder to see the glints of hope scattered amid all this misery. Garrett is one of them, bright like a wisp in the Fade.

He knows he won’t need to bear this all alone. He has allies everywhere, for the mages, for the cause, for liberty and rights.

None of those allies are for _him._ If they could, they would prefer to follow a First Enchanter who was not an elf. He knows this, and feels an uncaring sort of disdain for the fact. He is what he is; nothing can be done about that.

Garrett loves what he is.

It’s nice and soothing and a sorely needed comfort. Love can’t be undervalued.

He presses his face against Garrett’s neck, breathing in. When he speaks, reluctant and quiet, his voice comes out muffled. “I have to go.”

They do this every night. The first time, Orsino was halfway out the door, his voice carrying in the wind. Later he would hesitate, and stand across the room, but look at Garrett with pleading eyes, seeking an excuse to stay and full well knowing he couldn’t. Now he doesn’t even bother with the pretense, and clings for as long as he can til his own conscience forces them to part.  

Garrett’s voice is soft. He kisses Orsino’s temple, gently nuzzling fine grey hair. “Please don’t go. Stay with me, for one night. You’ll be safe.”

“If I don’t go back, the other mages are in danger.” He shuts his eyes and lets Garrett’s strong grip surround him. Being held with real affection is new. For a decade past it has been cold steel and plate digging into his thin body, holding him back, hurting him. A templar’s grip is always cruel. Garrett is kind and warm and his touch brings nothing but love. The difference is hard to think about.

“They could strike in the middle of the night.” He resolves himself, but clings closer, feeling uncomfortably frail compared to the strength of his apostate lover. “I can’t allow anything to happen.”

“You being there won’t stop them anymore.” It hurts to say, hurts to think about. Garrett forces the words out and feels Orsino wilt, instantly crestfallen. He is quick to follow it with apologies. “I’m sorry. I don’t want it to be this way. I don’t. We’re going to get them out, all of them. I don’t know when. But we will, I swear it.”

“I know you will.” Orsino reaches up and rubs Garrett’s shoulder, offering his own comfort. “But it hasn’t happened yet. So--” and here he pulls away, wriggling free of Garrett’s grasp and tugging off his borrowed shirt-- “I have to go back.”

“I know.” Garrett nods slowly, and takes the garment from him. After Orsino has put his robes back on, and kissed him, and moved away towards the door, and gone back to kiss him again, he is still standing there, clutching the crumpled shirt, staring at nothing.

There is a catch in Orsino’s voice. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Garrett manages a weak smile. “Bright and early. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Orsino nods, and lingers too long staring at Garrett with large eyes that glisten too much in the light. Then he yanks the door shut behind him and is gone.


End file.
